


Dirty Little Secret

by Rei382



Series: Drarropoly 2020 [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 6th year, Diary/Journal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei382/pseuds/Rei382
Summary: When Ron shows Harry that he managed to get a hold of Malfoy's diary, they think they will find proofs of Malfoy's criminal activities and Death Eater identity. The last thing they expected to find was a pornographic story about him....And Harry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025436
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109
Collections: Drarropoly '20: Founders Edition





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished my last drarropoly prompt! 
> 
> I got  
> The Library  
> Theme: Ravenclaw  
> Harry or Draco discovers the other's personal diary and is shocked by what they find.
> 
> It was meant to be about 5k... and, well ^^"
> 
> * A huge thanks to everyone who helped me writing this thing! [SumthinClever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumthinClever/pseuds/SumthinClever) who helped me form the idea, beta'd it when it was finally done, and encouraged me on ; [Andithiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andithiel) for her help with all the euphimisms for cock (and helping me with Draco's smut in general ---- and for teaching me how to use AO3 skins!!); and [Orpheous87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpheous87/pseuds/orpheous87) for helping me bounce ideas and for all the late night sprints that eventually got this done :)

“Look what I found!” 

Harry looked up and saw Ron practically skipping through the portrait hole and approaching him. He was holding a book in his hand, presenting it like a trophy. Once he got to the sofa where Harry was lounging he handed him the book. It only took one look for Harry to understand that it was not, in fact, a book, but rather some sort of a notebook. 

“What is it?” It looked plain enough. Black cover, no remarkable markings.

“Open it.”

Harry knew that he couldn't argue with Ron's smirk. Curious, Harry did as he was told.

_ Property of Draco Malfoy _ was written in big, black letters on the first page. It was also very clearly Malfoy's handwriting. Only that prat could write in such a fancy looking script.

Harry frowned. Why would he care about Malfoy's notebook?

“Keep going!” 

Harry gave his friend a look, but turned the page anyway.

  
_  
First day back. I wish I could tell everyone my very special task! But honestly, keeping it a secret makes me feel even more important. At least I don’t have to tell them all the details and they still praise me as their god.  
_

Harry blinked, and then stared at Ron. “Is this… what I think it is?”

Ron seemed like he could barely hold his excitement. “You bet! It’s Malfoy’s diary!”

“Shit – that’s –” it was pure gold. Finally, something Harry could  _ use _ to prove that Malfoy was scheming something! That first paragraph didn’t give away much information but surely if he dug through it enough… “Is  _ that _ why it took you forever to leave Potions class?”

“Yup!” Ron looked extremely proud. “Well, Slughorn wanted to talk to me about something, but then I found this on the floor and – bingo!” Harry saw Ron’s eyes moving between Harry’s and the diary he was holding in his hand. “Come on, let’s read it!”

Harry looked around them. At such an hour, the common room was full: everyone had already finished their classes; it was not the Quidditch practice day, and it was still too early to go to dinner.

“Wanna go up to our room and read it? I don’t know what we’ll find in here.”

Ron thought about the suggestion for a moment. “Alright, yeah. Don’t want anyone else taking the credit for finally turning Malfoy in.”

They got up and went to the boys’ dorms, where they promptly sat on Harry’s bed and settled in to read the diary.

The first few pages had nothing interesting: mostly Malfoy talking about how great he was, how proud he was going to make his father _ ; _ but nothing specific.

Harry kept turning pages, looking for words that would jump out as significant. He was just turning the page to what looked like an especially long entry and –

“Look, mate! He’s writing about you!”

Harry looked at the page that was just revealed; it took a few paragraphs, but he found his name.

  
_  
I looked over, and, much to my astonishment, Harry Potter stood at the prefect bathroom door.  
_

Harry could remember no such scene. He had never once seen Malfoy at the prefect bathrooms: he hadn’t shown up there since the fourth year, and he was definitely alone then – if he didn’t count Moaning Myrtle, of course.

He glanced at Ron and saw that his stare was still fixed on the diary, his eyebrows brought together in a frown.

As if feeling Harry’s stare, Ron looked up. “It… looks like a story,” he said.

Harry glanced at the page again, and read further.

  
_  
He looked back at me, and I saw his eyes lowering to my naked body. My muscular chest was bared and I knew he could see at least some of my abs, but fortunately, my lower body was covered by the giant colourful soap bubbles that covered the pool-like bath.  
_

_ It took me a few seconds, but I got over my initial shock and found the strength to ask, “What are you doing here, Potter?” _

_ Potter, for some unknown reason, didn’t seem to be bothered. At all. Not by the fact that he walked in on me taking my bath; not by me asking him why he was there; and not, apparently, by the fact that he was not supposed to be there at all. _

He had to admit that Ron was right: it did look like a story. A story about Malfoy, and himself. At the prefect bathroom. With Malfoy being naked and talking about a  _ muscular chest _ Harry was pretty sure he didn’t have.

“It… does.”

“Why do you think Malfoy would write a story?” The last words were broken by a stifled laugh. Harry had to admit that indeed the idea of Malfoy writing stories was rather amusing.

But the thought of the content still bothered him.

“I… don’t know.”

“Well then, let’s read on!” Ron obviously either didn’t see the disturbing words or situation yet, or his mind didn’t wander to the same regions. “Want to read it out? Since it’s about you? Or should I?”

Harry thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure he felt comfortable with the idea of reading this thing out loud – but he didn’t dare express his concerns. What if Ron thought it was weird that those thoughts appeared in Harry’s mind? What if he was wrong and the story was completely innocent?

Well maybe  _ innocent _ wasn’t the right word, considering it was Malfoy who wrote it. But it could go in numerous other paths than the one Harry thought about. Maybe Mafloy was going to drown him in the bath. That definitely sounded like something he’d do.

“You read it,” he said. It was the lesser of two evils.

Ron smiled brightly at him and turned his eyes back to the diary as he started reading it out loud.

  
_  
“’I came here looking for you,’ he replied.  
_

_ This was the last answer I was expecting. ‘You came looking for  _ me _?’ I asked. I knew he spent most of his time spying on me, but I didn’t know what he thought he’d find me doing in the shower. _

_ He stepped closer and closed the door behind him. He now stood in the dimmed light of the prefect’s bathroom, rather than in the darkness of the hall, and I could see him better. His dark hair was as messy as ever, but there was some new glint in his poison-green eyes. I could see that even behind his hideous round glasses. _

“Well that’s rude,” Ron commented. He seemed completely unaware of Harry’s discomfort: this was shaping up to be too much like he feared it might be to notice any insult. “I don’t think your glasses are too bad.”

Harry knew he had to respond. “Yeah, well, but you know – it’s  _ Malfoy _ .”

That seemed to have satisfied his friend. Ron shrugged. “Yeah, true that,” he said, and then read on.

  
_  
“’Yes, Malfoy,’ he said. There was something strange in his voice. But I couldn’t pinpoint what that was.  
_

_ I felt exposed, being fully naked  _ (Ron had to pause for a laughing fit; Harry felt sick)  _ in the bath while he was standing there, staring at me and all dressed up. I also felt other things. – _

“Oh my god!” Ron called. “Harry!” he looked up from the diary right at Harry’s horrified face. “It’s porn! Malfoy’s writing porn!”

“I…” Harry started. He was trying to fight the nausea.

“Wait until I tell Hermione – no, fuck this, the whole  _ school _ about this.” 

“No!”

Ron stared at him.

“Well – first, we don’t know  _ for sure  _ yet… like, it really sounds like it, but we don’t know what  _ other things _ are… Besides… it’s about me, too. If it is… you know, then I don’t think I want it rolling all around school.”

Ron looked disappointed. “Maybe we could charm your name out. Hermione would know for sure!”

“I don’t want her to read this, either!” Harry called. He was on the verge of panic. “Actually,” he continued, and snatched the diary from Ron’s hands, “I don’t even want to read it myself.”

Ron tried to take the diary back. “Well then you don’t have to but  _ I _ want to – “

Harry closed the diary and moved it far from Ron. “You know what? I don’t think I want you to read it either. It’s – embarrassing!”

“Yeah – for Malfoy! I found it, I want to read!”

“No, Ron, I don’t want you to! Yeah it’s embarrassing for Malfoy but it is for me too! He wrote this – whatever this is – about  _ me _ too. I just – don’t read it, okay? For me?”

Ron stopped trying to snatch the notebook from Harry, and instead sat still, looking thoroughly disappointed. “Fine,” he said, defeated. “I won’t. But you owe me one.”

Harry felt the tension leaving his shoulders – at least partially. He loosened his hold on the diary now that it was not in danger of being stolen by Ron. “Thank you.”

It took them a moment to get over the awkwardness; but Harry mentioned the upcoming Quidditch game and Ron started talking again, excited about the practices and the expectation to win over Ravenclaw, which would bring Gryffindor back in the race for the Quidditch cup.

Harry did his best to not think about the diary for the rest of the evening. When it was time for dinner he hid it in his drawer and went to the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, and the conversation flowed, as always. He was thankful that Ron had enough sense to not even mention the diary to Hermione: Harry was certain that if he did, she would request to read it to make sure there was nothing dangerous there. But Harry still stood firm in his stance: he didn’t want anyone, not even his closest friends, to read it.

But the damn diary – and the story written inside it – did not leave Harry’s mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it out.

It was well past bedtime. All the residents of the 6 th year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory were fast asleep. But sleep felt like the farthest thing from Harry’s mind. He was haunted by thoughts of the diary. Fear, curiosity, disgust – whatever it was, it did not let Harry ease into the serenity of sleep.

He turned on his side, finding himself facing the window of the Gryffindor Tower. It was a cloudy night, but he could see the crescent moon peeking through the curtains every time the wind moved them about. Harry turned again to lie on his back and frowned at the ceiling. He didn’t want to know whether Ron was right; but at the same time, he  _ had _ to know what was written in Malfoy’s diary. It was his  _ right _ , as it was about him.

As if struck by lightning, Harry turned and propped himself up on one elbow as the other one reached into his drawer and pulled the diary out. He grabbed his wand and whispered a  _ lumos  _ spell. He knew he was going to regret this, but he opened the notebook anyway and started reading from the place Ron had stopped earlier that day. 

__

_  
I was determined not to show how uncomfortable I was. After all, I had nothing to be ashamed of. I looked directly at him, ignoring the way his stare made me feel. “Why?”  
_

_ Potter stepped closer yet, and I had to stifle a shocked gasp when he started taking off his robe _ _. Those  _ feelings  _ in my body intensified. I glanced down, and was even more thankful for the thick magical bubbles that hid the lower part of my body from Potter’s prying eyes. _

_ “Isn’t it obvious?” he replied. He shrugged his robes off, and I was mesmerised by the movement. My eyes followed the heavy black fabric as it fell to the tiled floor. _

Savage _ , I thought to myself. _

Harry was taken aback. First Malfoy writes about him that he’s messy, and then he reprimands him for it?

  
_  
Not only was it a floor, and therefore dirty by default; but it was a bathroom floor, and I knew for a fact that it was wet. Of course, magic could fix both problems. But no self-respecting wizard or witch would deliberately put themselves in such a situation.   
_

_ But Harry Potter was no ordinary wizard.  _ (Harry lifted an eyebrow at this line)  _ I had known that from the first moment I had met him; before he even knew who he was. _

_ And, clearly, he was not a self-respecting wizard either, judging by the company he chose for himself. _

_ I looked up again and saw that Potter’s stare was still fixed on me.  _

_ "Obvious?" I repeated back to him. Why for Merlin's sake would I know why Potter felt the need to follow me - and to the bathroom, no less? "I'm not that good at _ legilimency _. Yet." _

_ Much to my surprise, Potter snorted. Such an unattractive noise.  _

_ …which made the fact that my discomfort increased all the more strange. _

_ "You don't need  _ legilimency  _ to know what I want from you," he said.  _

_ Potter’s hands moved up to loosen his tie. Despite the distance, I could see his Adam's apple as he stretched his neck. The image of my mouth on that throat popped into my mind, surprising me and filling my body with heat that had very little to do with the temperature of the water surrounding me. _

Harry stopped reading. This – he had no doubt anymore. This was  _ exactly _ what Ron thought it was. And it was even worse. Malfoy, for whatever twisted reason, was writing a porn about  _ himself and Harry _ . He was writing about kissing his neck and having Harry watch him taking a bath and –

Dinner was coming up in his throat, and his heart rate increased. It was bad enough to know Malfoy was writing such things,  _ about Harry _ ; but a line like that… was Malfoy thinking about these things? When he was sitting at the Slytherin table, surrounded by his friends but glaring across the hall – was he thinking about Harry’s neck? Was he thinking about undressing him?

Harry’d never thought that it could be possible. He’d always imagined… no, he was  _ sure _ Malfoy hated him. They’ve been enemies since the very first day, this… this was impossible!

Maybe it would still change? Maybe Malfoy was not writing about  _ kissing _ his neck… maybe he was fantasizing about being a vampire, and it was killing Harry that was on his mind?

It wasn’t likely, but it was a possibility. It was a weak hope that Harry could cling to, at least for now – and especially if he stopped reading. But he couldn’t. He moved on.

  
_  
My breath hitched when his hands reached to the buttons of his white school shirt. My eyes were drawn to the way the fabric stretched over Potter's broad chest. It might have been the dimmed light of the room, but I thought I could see his nipples through the white fabric, just before he started undoing the buttons.   
_

_ I was unable to reply. I was unable to move. I was unable to tear my eyes away from him. It was as if he cast a full body bind curse on me, only I never saw him reaching for his wand. _

_ My eyes kept trailing down with each button that popped open. Slowly, inch by inch, his chest was revealed to me. I could tell he was working out by the defined lines of his pecs and, as his hands traveled south, his defined abs. ( _ Harry had to pause and glance. He was not aware of any ‘defined abs’ he possessed) _ , I felt my mouth going dry. _

Harry did too. He also had to admit - to himself, with no chance of ever sharing the thought with anyone else – that Malfoy’s writing was rather good. If he ignored, for a moment, that this was a story about himself and Malfoy, apparently about to have some very steamy sex, he actually enjoyed it.

As it was, his nausea was increasing, becoming a tie in his stomach that fought the heat that, much to his horror, started to build in the pit of his stomach. Harry read on, finding himself unable to stop.

  
_  
"It's the very same thing that _you_ want, Malfoy."   
_

_ The sound of my name uttered in his voice, suggestive and sultry, shook me out of my paralysis. _

_ “You don’t know what I want,” I snapped at him. It was all I could do to not give in to the urges that built inside me. I was very well aware by now that Potter’s little show made my body react in ways it in no way should. My shallow breaths, the heat in my face and in my loins – it was all just as tale-telling as my growing erection which was, thankfully, still hidden by the bubbles. _

“Fuck!” Harry hissed. He found that he himself had been suffering from the very same symptoms as story-Malfoy. He hated himself for it; it was  _ Malfoy _ , after all.

True, Malfoy was a good looking wizard. Harry would be stupid to deny it. But he was also an asshole, a stupid git who only cared about blood status and thought he was better than anyone else, and acted that way, too. He was a goddamn  _ Death Eater _ ; Harry knew that.

No. There was no way in hell that the scene described in Draco’s diary could happen in real life.

Encouraged by that thought, he read on.

  
_  
But Potter seemed to be seeing right through me. His lips twisted up in a smirk I thought I would only see on the face of a Slytherin when he stepped closer to the edge of the bath. Much to my surprise he kneeled right in front of me.  
_

_ “Oh, but Malfoy, I think I do.” _

_ He leaned so close that I could feel his breath fluttering over my face. How he managed to do so without falling into the water was a mystery to me; but it was a mystery I had no mind capacity to wonder about. All my strength went into staying in my place and not reaching out to him. _

_ I hated this feeling. This urge to pull him to me, to kiss him, to let him feel what he did to my body. _

_ But most of all, I hated that I knew Potter was right. _

_ He knew what I wanted, and he was playing me, teasing me. _

_ My mouth felt dry, but I couldn’t let him win. Not this easily. I swallowed and forced the most nonchalant look I could muster. “And what exactly would that be, Potter?” _

_ Breathing, thinking,  _ being _ , became hard when Potter’s smirk broadened in the most mischievous way. He leaned even closer and I felt his messy hair brushing my wet skin, until all I could see was his hair in my face. _

_ “That I’d fuck you.” _

“Guh!” Harry called, and closed the diary. That was  _ enough _ .

A sound of a sigh made him look up from the closed black notebook. Terrified by how loud he sounded in the silent room, he looked around the room. He could see movement in Dean’s bed, and he stared at it, holding his breath. If Dean woke up now – if he saw him right now – would he suspect that there was anything out of the ordinary? Harry didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out. Time passed, measured by Harry’s hastened heart beats. But he did not move again, and the room remained silent – except for his breathing.

He was safe.

He let out a relieved breath. He pushed the diary under his pillow, deciding that he could not keep reading that blasphemy. Feeling that he needed to calm himself down he went to the bathroom to wash his face. The cold water against his skin somewhat helped, but he still struggled when he decided to use the loo.

The  _ problem _ still did not go away when he returned to his bed. He thought, briefly, to relieve himself; but there was no way he was going to jerk off because he was thinking about him and Malfoy fucking. He’d rather lose his balls. He placed his head on his pillow and tried to will his dick to calm down.

It took a while, and a lot of thinking of the least arousing things he could come up with, but eventually Harry managed to fall asleep. His sleep was not calm. The scene from Malfoy’s diary haunted him, continuing in various ways, all concluding with a single ending: him and Malfoy shagging.

Harry woke up early, sweating and facing an even worse problem than last night. His underwear was sticky, and an especially horrible mixture of guilt and disgust flooded him as the realization of what must have happened dawned on him.

He hurried to the shower and threw his underwear in the laundry basket, determined to hide any evidence of the type of dreams he had at night before any of his roommates woke up.

It kept haunting him throughout the day. Concentrating in his classes felt impossible – especially in Potions which was shared with the Slytherins. He could barely stay in the same room as Malfoy, his mere presence making him think of hot bath tubs and clothes being thrown to the wet floor, neck kisses and hard dicks. Something inside Harry insisted that he would keep looking for Malfoy, while another part of him refused to do so much as glance at him. The result was that he kept moving his eyes towards him, and looking away. It made him pay zero attention to the potion he was trying to make with Hermione, which caused Hermione to get very annoyed with him since he failed even at the simplest tasks she gave him and almost ruined their potion.

Even Ron had noticed that Harry was acting weird and jittery and had asked him about it, but Harry just made up an excuse and avoided any conversation that might lead to the diary and its contents. He excused himself early from dinner, claiming that his stomach was feeling unwell – which wasn’t exactly untruly, but was hardly a reason to go to the infirmary as Hermione had suggested. He just needed – to burn that diary. Throw it in the lake. And a powerful  _ obliviate _ charm on his brain.

As it was, he had no one to perform the charm on him, the lake was far and demanded walking around the school with that blasphemy in his hands, and as for fire…

Well, he was mostly alone in the Gryffindor Tower. There were only a few first-years who probably had had their dinner earlier with their shorter school day who sat in the common room and talked about something uninteresting and unimportant. He could probably make it to the fireplace and burn the damn thing; and it wasn’t like he owed the first years’ any explanations about anything he’d done. They were tiny. Children. They barely had a right talking to him, let alone asking him about his actions.

Feeling decisive, and like he’d finally found the solution to all his problems, he pulled the diary from under his pillow and walked towards the dorm’s door. He reached towards it, placed his palm on the door knob – but couldn’t bring himself to twist it.

He groaned in annoyance, allowing his hand to slip off the handle in defeat. Burning the damn thing wouldn’t help. He knew that. A part of him knew it all along. The same part that also knew he didn’t even  _ want _ to burn it. He whispered a swear and walked back to his bed. That annoying part of him that wanted to read on had won. He glanced at his clock. It was most likely that he still had about half an hour before his roommates would start returning.

He sat down on his bed and opened the diary, looking for the place he left off last night and bracing himself for what was to come.

  
_  
“That I’d fuck you.”  
_

_ The blunt words were whispered into my ear. My dirty little secret that even I was not prepared to admit. _

_ And here it was, said to me from the one person who could make it come true. _

_ My eyes closed and I forgot how to breathe when I felt the wet warmth of Potter's tongue in my ear. But just as quickly as it appeared, so it disappeared.  _

_ I heard myself gasp at the loss, and I opened my eyes. Potter was still there, kneeling, watching me with that fiendish smirk. _

_ "All you have to do is ask," he told me. As if it was that easy. _

_ I looked at him, and saw what I had wanted for longer than I’d liked to admit.  _

_ Was I strong enough to resist?  _

_ My mouth answered before my mind could make a decision, or even consider it. _

_ "Please." _

Harry’s breath hitched. It was hard to imagine Malfoy saying such a word, and yet, his voice echoed in his head. Did Malfoy really think of himself  _ begging _ Harry? He read on.

  
_  
The single word seemed to be the only permission Potter needed, and the next thing I knew was the wave of warm water when Potter pushed himself into the water.   
_

_ I didn't have time to think about what was going to happen before Potter closed the little distance left between us. I  _ couldn't _ think when a second later my mind had been wiped clean by the pressure of Potter's lips against mine. _

_ I heard a moan, and realised it came from me when Potter’s tongue pushed against my lips. I reached to hold onto him; whether it was to pull him even closer or to push him away from me – I was not sure. Before I could do either, Potter placed a strong, assertive hand on my arm and I felt it travelling over my naked skin until he reached my hand. Much to my surprise he pulled my hand down. I didn’t even understand what was happening. My brain was too foggy from the fumes, the heat,  _ Potter _. But a second later my hand was touching something hard. _

_ Even in my foggy state I knew what that was. My eyes flew open and I gasped when the realisation that I was touching Potter’s cock, even if it was through his trousers, dawned on me. _

_ Potter moaned against my lips when I touched him, the sound vibrating through my body. Knowing that Potter was just as turned on as I was made me more desperate for him. I met his tongue with mine, and as the initial shock left me, passion took over. I explored his mouth with my tongue, tasting him, getting as much as I could. My hand moved as if on its own. I wrapped it over the hardness in his trousers. Even through the fabric I could tell he was big, and I longed to feel him without any barriers. I moved my hand up to undo the button and zipper that kept his trousers in place, fumbling with it even though Potter’s hand joined mine in the task. I didn’t even have enough patience to pull his trousers down and shoved my hand inside his underwear. _

_ I felt his body tense against mine, felt the gasp of air brushing against my lips, when Potter fell from the kiss as my hand finally wrapped around his love wand. It was even thicker than it felt through his trousers and barely fit in my hand. The thought about feeling that monstrosity inside me crossed my mind, scary and thrilling at the same time. _

_ Encouraged by his reaction, I started moving my hand up and down his shaft. I ventured opening my eyes when the need to  _ see  _ overcame me, and I was not disappointed. Potter’s eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open in pleasure. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was wet, still messy but also sticking to his skin. I reached out my other hand and thread my fingers through it. It was much softer than I thought, silky to the touch. I couldn’t resist and pulled on it slightly to reveal Potter’s neck to me. It was wet, droplets of water, droplets of sweat, dripping on it. I could see the vein pulsing under his skin. I leaned forward to kiss it, and it tasted just as sweet as I thought it would; with a touch of salt and the bitterness of the bathsoaps, but  _ delicious _. _

_ “Draco…” _

_ Hearing my name in Potter’s voice, my  _ first  _ name, so intimate and lustful, was like a dream come true. I moved my hand faster, eager to hear Potter saying it again, moaning it in my ear when I made him feel pleasure he’d never felt before. _

_ I heard his forced panting, each breath coming out as a little groan at my touch. I was already hard since the moment Potter had started taking his clothes off; but now I was impossibly hard, and I thought I might come just from seeing Potter like that, from knowing it was I who made him lose himself like that. _

_ Suddenly, I felt a pull on my own hair, forcing me away from Potter’s neck. I could see him staring at me again, his emerald eyes glinting with lust. He was like an animal, ready to attack, ready to succumb to his carnal desires. I didn’t have too long to ponder about that before he attacked my mouth with a fierce kiss that I returned passionately; but it didn’t last too long and Potter broke away from me. _

_ “No,” he growled, and his hand, which was still holding my wrist, pulled me away from his hardness. _

Harry stifled a groan and his hand stopped when diary-Harry forced Mafloy’s hand off him. He hadn’t even realised that he started stroking himself, having been too immersed in the story. He was breathing hard and his cock was hard in his hand, leaking on his fingers. He glanced at the door. If anyone walked in right now he’d be in so much trouble.

He knew he should stop reading. Stop…  _ this _ . It was Malfoy, and…

And it was hot as fuck.

With a lust-clouded mind Harry knew he probably wasn’t thinking clearly when he gave himself a squeeze and moaned at the wave of pleasure that ran through him. He repositioned himself, leaning the diary against the headboard, and read on.

  
_  
I was confused. He was the one who came in here and seduced me. Was he going to leave me like that? I was already so close.   
_  
He  
_  
was already so close: I could feel his broom handle pulsating in my hand before it was taken from me.  
_

_ “Turn.” _

_ Unable to think, I did as I was told. The loss of the sight of Potter’s face was immediately replaced by the warmth of his torso leaning against my back. _

_ “I’m going to fuck you,” I heard him growl in my ear. _

_ My cock gave a happy jump at those words.  _ Yes _ , this was what I wanted. I was scared, because it was my first time, and Potter was so  _ big _ , but however much it was going to hurt I knew it was going to be worth it. I held the sides of the pool, and my breath, and waited.  _

_ Potter moved his hand over my body. I felt his fingers tracing my abs and around my stomach. I gasped when I felt them on my lower back. My breath hitched when his hand travelled over my arse. I didn't have enough time to understand what he was doing before I felt pressure against my entrance. _

_ "Merlin - Potter!" I heard myself call when the pressure increased and I could definitely feel a finger inside me. _

_ "I think," I heard him panting, felt the words forming against my ear, "that you can call me Harry, considering the situation we're in." _

_ That was way too many words for me to fully grasp, but I understood his main point. "Harry…" I moaned. _

Harry found himself moaning too as Malfoy’s voice said the word in his head, clear as if he was sitting right next to him; as if it was  _ his _ hand going up and down his cock.

  
_  
His name felt strange on my tongue, an intimacy that felt greater than that we were sharing with his finger up my arse. It was…  
_

Nice.

_ The finger moved inside me, sending waves of pleasure through my spine. "Ah…" _

_ "You like it, hmm?" Harry’s hum vibrated against my back. It was almost too much to bear. _

_ And then, I felt his other hand moving over my body as well; travelling down my torso until it wrapped around my hardness. I let out a loud moan. _

_ “Oh, Harry…” _

_ “Say it,” Harry requested of me. At that exact moment he added another finger to move inside me, stretching me, torturing me with pleasure. “Tell me you like it.” _

Insane _. He was absolutely, utterly, insane. _

Harry agreed. He must’ve been  _ insane _ to be doing what he did. But he couldn’t stop. He read on, his eyes scanning the words with urgency.

  
_  
I could barely understand what he was saying to me – how did he want me to form coherent sentences when he was finger fucking me so good? When he was moving his firm hand up and down my cock?  
_

_ “Harry, please…” _

_ “ _ Say it _.” _

_ The movement stopped. If I thought it was torture when he was pleasuring me, I stood corrected: him  _ not  _ pleasuring me after getting me so worked up was the real torture. I was almost crying. “Oh, fuck, Harry,” I hissed. “Yes, I like it…  _ please…  _ don’t stop.” _

_ I felt his lips move against my ear. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” _

_ Thankfully, his hands started moving again; but much to my disappointment, it wasn’t for long. I groaned in frustration when his fingers left my arse and did not return quickly. _

_ “Harry, what?...” I started, but Harry shushed me, and a short moment later I understood why he was doing this to me. _

_ Something else, much bigger than a finger, pressed against me. _

_ My breath hitched again when I realized that Harry was going to fuck me. _

_ “It’s going to hurt a little,” he said to me, but I was beyond caring. I needed him inside me – and I needed him  _ now _. _

_ I just nodded, tightening the hold on the edge of the pool. _

_ And then the pressure intensified, and I felt myself stretching around Harry’s big cock; at the very same time Harry’s mouth left my ear and I felt his lips on my neck, kissing me, and shortly after he bit me. _

_ I moaned loudly. Whether it was from pleasure or from pain, I was not sure – but it was probably both. _

_ With Harry’s length and girth, it took a while for him to fill me entirely; but when he did he stopped, and he stopped biting me, kissing me again instead. I could barely stand. Harry felt so good inside me like that, filling me wholly. _

_ “Tell me when it’s okay for me to continue,” he whispered. I could hear the strain in his voice, too; he was fighting to hold himself back, just as I was. _

_ I allowed myself a few seconds to breathe, but then I nodded. “It’s okay,” I said. _

_ Harry didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as I finished uttering the word, he started moving inside me. Slowly, at first, still giving me time to get used to him, but the pace increased rapidly, leaving me breathless as each time he pounded into me another wave of pleasure washed over my body. With the faster pace, Harry fell from kissing my neck, and I felt his forehead leaning against me, as if he was using my body for support. _

_ His hand, still on my erection, pumped me as well, in rhythm with his thrusts. I heard Harry’s moans, desperate and needy. Felt the warm air from his mouth and nose against my heated skin. _

_ I couldn’t help but keep calling his name. Harry, Harry, _ Harry _. I loved the way it sounded, intimate and just so  _ right _. I heard him calling my name too, and it just intensified my pleasure. _

_ Until I could take it no more. _

_ I called Harry’s name one more time when my world exploded in front of my eyes. I could see nothing but white stars as I came hard. Pleasure flooded me and my entire world was reduced to my pleasure stick, and Harry pounding my arse.  _

As if his body was waiting for that line Harry let go of the diary, not even noticing when it fell off the bed as the heat in his stomach exploded. He came in his hand with a loud moan, the sticky cum covering his hand and dripping on his undone trousers. He laid back in his bed as if sitting up required too much energy. He was vaguely aware that he should get himself cleaned before his roommates returned, but he felt unable to move. He was hardly new to this kind of activity, and had been pleasuring himself since he first discovered how good it could feel when he was twelve, or thirteen, he didn’t remember; but it had never felt  _ this _ intense. It never felt as consuming as it felt now, while reading a pornographic story written by Malfoy.

He turned to lie on his back and stared at his ceiling with his dick still in his hand, rapidly getting soft in his hold. This was bad. This was  _ very _ bad. He couldn’t help but wonder whether it meant something. It was the first time Harry had access to any kind of porn. He couldn’t get any at the Dursley’s, too scared that anyone might find it, and there was no way he’d keep it at Hogwarts, either. He didn’t feel the need to get any magazines of that sort, either, being quite satisfied with his own imagination.

He couldn’t help but wonder whether his enhanced reaction was because, for the first time in his life, he was consuming porn – written, photographed, or filmed, it didn’t matter – or… because it was a porno about himself and Malfoy?

Slowly his breath eased and calmed down. The euphoria wore off, leaving him only with his disturbing thoughts – and the pressing knowledge that he  _ really _ should get himself cleaned up and at the very least presentable. He let go of himself and pulled his underwear back on and redid his trousers. He closed the notebook and hid it again before getting up and dragging himself to the shower. If anyone asks, he could just say he didn’t feel too well, and felt that a shower might help him feel better.Harry managed to go through the rest of the week almost without thinking about the diary. It popped into his head every now and then; usually at the most inappropriate moments or in his dreams. But he could convince himself that he had no need to open it again. The shame for what he’d done kept nesting in his stomach, but with homework – the amount of which seemed to grow by the day - and Quidditch practices set for Thursday and Saturday he was too busy to really let himself dwell on it.

It was only when Monday rolled by, and with it, Potions class, that Harry had a reason to remember the  _ incident _ , as he has come to refer to it in his head. It was the first time since Wednesday that he had a class that was shared with the Slytherins, and the nasty knot, which hadn’t really left Harry’s stomach ever since he read the first line in Malfoy’s story, tightened. He did his very best to ignore it. There was no reason for today to be any different than any other day, he said to himself. No one but him and Ron knew, and Ron, after trying a few times on the first two days and facing Harry’s extreme impatience and annoyance, stopped mentioning the diary at all. There was no reason for Malfoy to know. After all, he had hidden the fact that he was writing porn about himself and Harry surprisingly well. There was absolutely no reason for him to start suspecting today, out of all days. There was no reason for him to act differently around Harry. It was  _ Harry _ who had changed, Harry who had learned something he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

And if only Harry could hold himself and pretend that everything was the same this week as it had been last week there was no reason for anyone to know anything.

So he focused extra hard on the potion he was making with Ron, ignored anything that could possibly lead to any question about Malfoy, and actually managed to get their potion to the exact shade of shimmering gray Professor Slughorn showed when he explained how to make the Tranquillitas Potion. It was a little bit extra shimmery, which meant that he probably used a little bit too much fairy dust. When they handed the potion to the professor and he noted that the only effect this small blunder might have is making the drinker a little bit too calm that they might fall asleep if not stimulated, he said, as if it was a their little secret, that he wasn’t going to dock the grade for such a minor mistake.

Harry thought, as he and Ron turned, heading back to organize their station and leave, that he was in the clear. He didn’t have any classes with the Slytherins until the next day when he had Defense Against the Dark Arts.

What Harry did  _ not _ expect, however, was that Malfoy would draw the attention of the whole class to himself with a horrified shriek.

“Blaise! You  _ idiot _ !”

Harry, along with the rest of the class, looked at his direction. He could see him standing with a disgusted look on his face. His robes and face were covered with a slimy blue substance that Harry recognized as the dragon bile they were supposed to use in the potion.

“Draco, I’m sorry, the jar just slipped – “

“It  _ stinks _ . I’m gonna have to skip lunch and take a shower to take this stuff off me. Then I’m going to  _ starve _ until dinner and it’ll be all because of you!”

Ron looked like he was going to explode with the laughter he was trying to hold back. He kept pulling at Harry’s robe to grab his attention, but Harry, like most of the class, was more fascinated with the argument.

“I said I’m sorry – I’ll grab lunch for you, okay?”

Harry almost felt sorry for Zabini. Almost, because Harry’s attention was drawn to Malfoy. The mention of a shower threw Harry back to the story in Malfoy’s diary. His eyes traced the bile that was dripping on his hair, his cheek, and down to his neck. He felt the heat in his own cheeks as another image of Malfoy’s neck came to his mind. Dripping wet with warm water, tasting salty under Harry’s tongue and Malfoy moaning in his ear –

“What are you staring at, Potter?”

The images evaporated from Harry’s mind, leaving him in the student-packed dungeon where everyone’s attention moved from Malfoy – to him. He was very aware that his body had reacted to Malfoy’s neck, and could only hope that the school robes were loose enough to hide what was going on in his pants from all the prying eyes. He felt the heat that had gathered in his face and knew that it had to be visible.

The thought that Malfoy could see – could guess what was going on in Harry’s head – crossed his mind and made him freeze with horror. After all Malfoy knew very well what he’d written, and what he’d just said about taking a shower, and Harry had been staring at him, he knew that, and –

“I’ll hex the bile to bloody  _ haunt  _ you if you don’t take your bloody eyes off of me.”

Harry blinked and gasped when Ron pulled him behind him. “Shut up, Malfoy, it’s not Harry’s fault that seeing you covered in bile is a life-long dream. You finally smell as foul as your soul.”

Harry heard the stifled laughter of the Gryffindor students and the enraged murmur of the Slytherins at Ron’s words and felt a familiar pain in his chest, even though it took him a few seconds to realize he was feeling sorry for Malfoy.

This was  _ bad. _ Since when did he sympathize with Malfoy? He was a git, he was a spoiled brat – and he was a bloody Death Eater. He had no right looking so hurt by having the Gryffindors making fun of him. Harry was supposed to be one of those who’d made fun of him, too. He had every right to. Malfoy was covered in dragon bile, after all. Pretending that Ron’s words were the truth all along was the right thing to do.  _ And  _ it was a good way out of having been staring at Malfoy for what had to be at least a minute.

Harry forced a laugh and hoped it didn’t sound as fake as he felt it did. “Exactly,” he said, and almost cringed at his own voice. He could very clearly hear the slight hoarseness in the single word, could hear his own lack of confidence. “Thank you for making my day.”

That, at least, was almost honest.

His eyes went wide and he heard the uproar that came from the Slytherins and saw Malfoy’s hand reaching for his wand with a snarl on his face.

“Ten points from Slytheirn! Ten points from Gryffindor!” Professor Slughorn’s voice was heard over the noise in the class and made Malfoy lower his wand.

Everyone looked in his direction and groans were heard from both sides of the classroom at the unfair punishment.

“But, sir – “

“This is unfair, Professor – “

“ _ They _ started it!”

Harry heard the students – both his fellow Gryffindors, from one side, and the annoyed Slytherins from the other side – try to reason with Professor Slughorn, but to no avail.

“I will not tolerate dueling in my classroom, no matter who initiated it!” he called, and pointed at the classroom door. “Everyone pack your things and head to your next class. Right now! Come on!”

Malfoy did not leave Harry’s thoughts throughout the entire day. He barely ate at lunch, too busy looking up in the direction of the Slytherin table in search of a very specific blond; but true to his word, Malfoy did not show up. After lunch, Harry gave his love bird, which he was supposed to change into a vase, china wings which almost squashed it under their weight as it escaped him and tried to fly, and in Herbology he milked the wrong flower even though he was supposed to  _ know _ he should milk the orange one and definitely not the turquoise one.

When they entered the Great Hall for dinner Harry’s habit from lunch remained and he used every chance he got to sneak a look towards the other end of the hall. Surely the bile wasn’t bad enough for Malfoy to miss out on dinner, too? But as time passed Harry could no longer pretend he was still eating, especially not considering the fact that following his horrid mess-ups in classes today he promised Hermione that he would sit with her and practice turning birds into vases, which McGonagall had hinted would appear on their mid-term exam. So he got up and watched his dirty plate disappear from the table. He felt disappointed, even though he knew he had no reason to. So Malfoy wasn’t at the meals today. So fucking what? It was better, actually. Harry followed Hermione and Ron as they turned towards the door.

A glint of blond hair caught Harry’s attention and he looked up from Hermione’s bushy hair just in time to see Malfoy passing by them, accompanied by his usual thugs. Harry saw the gray eyes moving. It was a millisecond thing; maybe less, but their eyes met, and Harry’s heart jumped to his throat. For a heartbeat Harry thought he might’ve seen something in Malfoy’s face; a slight widening of his eyes, an almost invisible darkening of his extremely pale cheek. But he walked past him and looked away with his pointy nose up in the sky and Harry couldn’t tell if it was just his imagination or if something really did change in Malfoy when he noticed him. Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to care that they passed by Mafloy and kept walking; Harry went with them.

Harry couldn’t escape sitting with Hermione, but his mind wasn’t there. After an hour of trying to help him turn the bird she had conjured and failing, even Hermione had given up and said that they should try again tomorrow. Harry apologized, and then excused himself to go up to the boys’ dorms. He laid back in his bed and hit his head on his pillow; strong enough that he felt the diary’s outline through the layers of fabric and polyester.

The memory of Malfoy’s eyes locking with his, and the look he gave him in Potions class, flashed in his mind along with the realization that he’d never really finished reading the story in Malfoy’s diary. He turned on his side and, glancing at the door to make sure there was no one there, grabbed the notebook and opened it where he left it.

  
_  
It was better than anything I've felt before. It did not compare to the orgasms I’d had when I was on my own. I was not sure I could ever be satisfied with just masturbating alone.   
_

_ I did not know how long had passed until I heard Harry groaning loudly and felt he was no longer thrusting into me, but holding onto me tightly, as if I was the only thing keeping him from drowning; but it could not have been long. I also didn't know how long we spent standing like that, glued to each other. I didn't move, didn't dare, even after the euphoria ebbed away. I was afraid the fantasy would disappear if I did anything more than breathe.  _

_ But we could not stay like this forever. Eventually Harry's hand let go of me and pushed himself away.  _

_ I turned to face him. Gone was the passion that filled his eyes minutes earlier. The green was dull, cold.  _

_ "Well, Malfoy," I almost flinched at the returned use of my last name. "I'll see you around." _

_ I was too shocked to say anything as he walked away and climbed out of the bath. I watched him as he got dressed and cast a drying spell on his clothes. Then he left, not saying another word.  _

_ I was left alone, feeling used, but thoroughly satisfied. _

Harry stared at the page. He hadn’t realized he was left only so little to read – but, once he gave it a short thought, it made sense. It looked like Malfoy’s sole purpose with this story was to write about having sex with him; therefore there was no reason to write a lot more after that part was done and over. But somehow he didn’t expect it to end like _ this _ .

Did he really think that Harry would use him like that? Harry didn’t have much experience with such situations – none, if he were to be frank – but if… if Harry  _ were _ to have such feelings about him, surely he wouldn’t just leave him like that?

No… if Harry were to date Draco, and have sex with him, he’d stay there with him… He’d suggest they finish the bath together, maybe rest in each other’s arms in the warm water until they both felt that it was time to go. And he’d part with him with a kiss, and a promise to see each other the next day.

Was Draco thinking so little of him, nay; so little of  _ himself _ that he thought he didn’t deserve anything better than to have his body used like that?

Not that he thought that  _ Malfoy _ deserved being… loved, or anything. He stressed the name in his head. Malfoy was  _ Malfoy _ , not Draco, no matter how sorry Harry felt for him. Not that he should feel sorry for him, he reminded himself. He was a Death Eater, after all.

And that was the reason Harry had his diary in his hands.

The horror of finding a sex story about himself and Malfoy had pushed the original purpose out of his brain. The embarrassment of his own reaction to the story didn’t exactly help, either. He turned the page and was relieved when the next entry seemed to be a more typical diary entry. He scanned it, and realized that it was much different than the first ones, and set a completely different tone. He realized that he and Ron must have missed something.

He flipped through the pages and went back to the beginning of the diary, and started reading.

Harry only managed to read through the first dozen or so pages before his roommates entered the room and he was forced to hide the notebook. The first pages were just the same as what Harry and Ron read together. Malfoy was bragging about having some kind of a  _ mission _ , but he never hinted at what it was, nor gave any clue that it was connected to Voldemort. The last entry he’d read before the door opened was slightly different than the entries before it, which piqued Harry’s interest. The over-confident, bragging tone had started fading, leaving buds of self-doubt in its wake. Harry had a feeling that maybe this change of mood might mean Malfoy might slip later on – just like he allowed himself to write something as incriminating as his story.

Once everyone was asleep he pulled the diary out and kept reading.

The tone was indeed different after that one entry, and it became darker. The Malfoy who wrote the later entries was not the same Malfoy who’d written the entries Harry read after lights’ out hour. The latter was rapidly losing his self-assured tone, and the dates were more sporadic. The early entries were written almost every day, or at worst, once every three days, but it was slowly becoming further and further apart. Harry was reading an entry written on October twentieth, and then the next one was already post-Halloween. He also noticed that his own name was starting to show up; it was ‘Potter’ at first, with mentions of the various ways Malfoy thought he was messing with him, or unworthy, but the tone of those mentions changed as well. Harry noticed that Malfoy was starting to mention Harry’s physical attributes – in a much kinder light than Harry saw himself – and how Malfoy was mostly complaining about being distracted by him.

It wasn’t until after the Christmas vacation, however, that Malfoy seemed to understand the true nature behind his obsession with Harry. It was an especially long entry, Harry had noticed, and it was full of self-reproach and denial, and listed every reason why it made absolutely no sense for Malfoy to feel the way he did. Harry had agreed almost with every point, except the one that mentioned his ‘bloody glasses that made him look like a nerdy idiotic git’. The conclusion was that Harry was simply an attractive asshole and that’s all there was to it. To Harry, remembering his own experience with Cho Chang, it sounded like something a little  _ different _ , deeper; which made him feel…  _ strange _ .

When he’d read Malfoy’s story he hoped it was just as what Malfoy had been trying to convince himself of. Just physical attraction. Why someone like  _ Malfoy _ would be attracted to Harry, out of all people, was something that Harry could not understand. Not that he thought he was especially bad looking; he thought he looked just fine, but someone like Malfoy… with his status and looks, surely could have had anyone he wanted. A Slytherin girl. Or a boy, whatever.

Why Harry?

They barely even knew each other. They weren’t friends. The vast majority of their interaction throughout the six years they’ve known each other was calling each other names, or trying to get each other in trouble. It just made no sense to him.

Harry didn’t even notice that the clock was ticking his sleep time away. He found that he was fascinated with reading Malfoy’s thoughts – those that were related to Harry, and those that were not. He realized that Malfoy, despite being seemingly confident and constantly surrounded by friends, felt extremely lonely. He wrote about feeling hopeless, about being scared, although he never once mentioned why, or what from. He kept writing about  _ failing _ at something, and how it terrified him that if he wouldn’t succeed, he’d have no reason left to live for.

Maybe it was the late hour, but with each entry, Harry realized that he felt more and more sorry for him. It must have been horrible to feel that way. Harry himself was no stranger to feeling lonely. Growing up with the Dursleys was hardly fun, or sociable; but getting into Hogwarts he felt he had found the place where he belonged. It didn’t seem to be that way for Malfoy; and he seemed to have felt uncomfortable at home, too, judging by his post-Christmas entry – the same one where he wrote about Harry.

Reading the diary gave him a whole new perspective on a boy he thought he knew well enough. But he now realized that all his snobbery and pretense had been only a call for attention. Attention that he could not get at home but desperately needed, and was never taught how to ask for in the ‘correct’ manner. It made Harry think about all their interactions. All the times Malfoy singled him out – his obsessive focus on him at every opportunity, be it classes, any event that was even semi related to Harry, Quidditch. Harry suddenly realized that there was more to Malfoy’s harassments than just annoying the fuck out of Harry. He was focused on him because he was jealous of Harry having friends. Real friends, ones who kept risking their lives for him. He was focused on him because he found him attractive. He focused on him because…

He loved him.

Or, at the very least, liked him a lot.

This was unsettling. Harry’s stomach twisted and he felt as if he was choking. Sure, there was something nice about knowing someone was into him; but it was also an uneasy thought. Especially considering it was Malfoy who had these feelings. They were enemies. Not even not-friends. And they actively hated each other.

But then Harry remembered something. A line from a song he once heard on the car radio on one of the rare occasions the Dursleys took him with them. He hadn’t heard much of that song that day as Uncle Vernon grunted, complaining about the ‘crappy music some stations have’ and switched the channel. It was when Harry was eight, or nine – he couldn’t exactly remember – and he’d never thought about it until this moment.  _ There’s a thin between love and hate _ .

He blinked in confusion as he kept staring at Malfoy’s words. He never considered such a thing to be true, but now that he thought about it, he realized this was the sort of thinking Aunt Petunia’s silly romance shows used quite often. How many times were the characters fighting and screaming at each other one moment, and kissing passionately the next?

Was this how it was with Mafloy’s feelings?

And what on  _ earth _ was Harry supposed to do about this information?

He suddenly felt very awkward reading something as personal as Draco’s diary. These were not his thoughts to read. He had no right knowing about these emotions that Malfoy clearly struggled with, that were making his life even more miserable than it already was. Harry closed the diary and put it away in his drawer, and then laid back in his bed.

Death Eater or not, Draco was a human being, and he had the right to keep his secrets – at least his harmless, emotional ones – to himself. He didn’t write the diary for Harry to learn about how he felt about him, or about the creative way in which he’d decided to cope with his feelings and fantasies. Harry felt like he’d violated some very basic human right in the name of incriminating Draco, and he wasn’t sure that, even had he succeeded, that it was worth the price.

The fact that, other than speculations about the hidden meanings of Draco’s writings, Harry had zero proof that he indeed was a Death Eater certainly didn’t help Harry’s struggling conscious.

He should return the diary to its rightful owner, and not read another single word of it. That was clear to him now. It was wrong of Ron to take it, and it was wrong of them both to read it, and it was wrong of Harry to keep reading – especially Draco’s self-indulgent story, and especially when Harry’s mind was flooded with the memory of his own  _ actions _ while he was reading it. Shame filled his every cell, and not only because he had pleasured himself to the thought of shagging Malfoy.

Falling asleep took a while that night, and his sleep, when it finally came, was troubled.

Harry spent the following days trying to find a way to discreetly give Malfoy his diary back. His conscience started nagging at him even worse when he overheard Malfoy mention that someone had stolen something from him to one of his fellow Slytherins after their next Potions class. He didn’t mention what it was, but he seemed very disturbed about this, and Harry knew that he was talking about his diary – especially when Malfoy said, in response to Zabini suggesting that he’d look in his schoolbag again, that he had been looking for it everywhere for the past week but it was nowhere to be found.

Harry felt Ron’s eyes on him but he packed his things as quickly as he could and left for his next class, which, thankfully, he did not share with Ron.

An opportunity didn’t appear, however, until Thursday night. Harry was finishing his dinner when he saw Malfoy – along with the rest of the Slytherin team – get up and leave the dining hall. This gave him an idea. Malfoy almost always stayed after the practice, which meant he would be alone. Harry remembered having read that in his diary – he remembered it because it reminded him so much of himself when he felt troubled. It would be the perfect opportunity to get him his diary back.

So after dinner he returned to the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione, and sat with her again to practice the bird transfiguration. At about nine he excused himself and claimed he had to go get a book from the library – an excuse he was pretty sure Hermione didn’t buy (especially since she did not offer to come with him) – and walked out of the common room with his school bag, where he’d conveniently placed his invisibility cloak as soon as they came back to Gryffindor Tower. Quidditch practices rarely lasted longer than two hours during weekdays, and he knew that chances were that if he managed to get to the field a little bit past nine he would find Malfoy there, on his own, flying about after the rest of the team had left.

He put the cloak on as soon as he stepped out the castle doors. He didn’t want to chance being seen by the Slytherin team, or,  _ worse _ , by Malfoy. When he saw the burly group of Slytherin students walking up to the castle, still dressed in their Quidditch robes, holding their brooms, and very loudly talking about how good the practice was and how they were going to ‘crush those stupid Hufflepuffs’, as Montague had so eloquently said, Harry thanked his own sense for putting the cloak on. He looked at them as they unsuspectingly passed him, and counted only six of them. A familiar blond was missing.

_ Bingo _ .

Harry waited until the team neared the castle before he kept walking towards the field. He walked onto the field, and looked up towards the sky. Sure enough, Malfoy was there – although from this distance he was only recognizable by his light hair, shining like a comet in the night skies as he flew across the field. Harry had no idea how long he was going to keep at that, but assumed that he wouldn’t have to wait too long: after all, curfew was at ten, and while Harry could use his invisibility cloak to pass by professors unnoticed, Malfoy did not enjoy the same privilege. He also knew, from Ron and Hermione, that except on rare occasions and their regular duty, prefects had to abide by the curfew time too, which meant he couldn’t use that, either.

He watched him fly around. Most of the time Malfoy flew relatively high, but at times he dove. One time he did so incredibly close to Harry, who found himself mesmerized; and not only because the feint was done flawlessly. He was close enough for Harry to see his face, and notice how different it was now. When he was all alone – or at least believed he was – and doing what he liked doing best. It might have been for a second, but Harry could see the expression of  _ freedom _ on his face. A bright smile, and a calmness that relaxed his features, made him look…

Beautiful.

Harry kept following him with his eyes, watching him flying elegantly in the air, the broom acting as a part of his body with the smooth, complete way he was controlling it.

Harry couldn’t help but think about the words he’d read in Malfoy’s diary. His confusion, his admission of being attracted to Harry… and then of  _ more _ . Harry thought about his story, about the feelings Malfoy described when imagining Harry touching him, kissing him. Heat spread in Harry’s face at the memory, which then dragged the memory of Harry’s own fantasy. He thought about the loneliness, the sadness, the helplessness that were a constant part of Malfoy’s existence.

No one deserved to live like that.  Not even Draco.

Harry felt a blush spreading in his cheeks as he thought of the name, so personal yet - somehow - felt  _ right _ . He kept watching him flying about, and imagined flying with him. Not racing against him when chasing the Snitch, but joining him in the freedom that could only be achieved by leaving the ground behind him. He realized that the image wasn’t as repulsive as he thought it’d be, and it actually left warmth in his chest. Draco wasn’t as bad as he tried to pretend he was.

It suddenly dawned on Harry that whatever it was that Draco was supposed to do, he was forced into it. Some of the entries suddenly clicked – Draco was just scared. For his own life. For his family’s life. Death Eater or not, he was just a boy.

Harry lowered his eyes to the grass. He was just a boy.

Maybe… maybe they had judged him too quickly. Harry never even tried to get to know him, to see  _ his _ side. Of course he didn’t really leave much room for Harry to want to do such a thing, treating Ron as he did and everything that followed. But what did he know? Just like Harry, he was an eleven year old child; but unlike Harry his brain had been poisoned by his parents and pretty much everyone in his life.

Harry looked back up to watch Draco cutting through the night sky like an elegant arrow. It wasn’t just pity he was feeling for him, he realized. It was  _ understanding _ . And maybe something a little bit more. Harry suddenly realized what giving Draco his diary back now, by Harry, while having to look at him,  _ knowing _ he’d read the contents of it, would probably feel like for Draco. Harry realized how incredibly inconsiderate, how selfish, it had been of him to think he could just hand it to him. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was an accomplice to stealing Draco’s property and having invaded his privacy in such a brutal way.

He had no right. To  _ any _ of it.

Harry allowed himself one moment longer of watching Draco flying before he turned and headed out of the field, and into the dressing room. He located the only pile there, which had to belong to Draco, and walked over it. He took the diary out of his backpack and placed it on the pile in a way there was no way for Draco to miss it. The last thing Harry wanted was to risk having anyone else finding it and Draco’s privacy invaded even more.


	2. Epilogue

__

_  
I have to start by apologizing for taking your diary. It was a horrible thing to do, and I am ashamed of it. I confess that I did read it. Not all of it, but enough. I promise that none of the information I learned from it will ever be shared with anyone else. There is nothing I could ever do to make it up to you, but I’d like to try, if you’d agree to let me. I might not know exactly what you’re going through, but I do know how you feel. At least, partially. I’ll pretend I never read any of it unless I hear otherwise from you.  
_

_ H.P. _

_ Ps. I know the password for the prefect bathroom. Ron gave it to me last month when there was a problem with the Gryffindor one and Neville got Sopophorous pus on me. _

__

Draco stared at the note that was left inside his diary, which had magically appeared on his pile in the Quidditch field dressing room. His emotions felt like a roller coaster; from relief to having finally found his diary, which contained some  _ very _ personal information about him; to dread when he realized it was placed too neatly, suggesting someone must have left it there, which meant that someone  _ else _ had found it; to thankfulness when he realized that whoever that was, he was decent enough to return it; to panic when he found a note in it, which increased when the finder said he’d read it, and then increased even more when he saw the signature that revealed  _ who _ the finder was; to the worst embarrassment he’d ever felt when he reached the part  _ after _ the signature, which seemed to be there only to let Draco know that whatever else Potter had read, he also read at least  _ one _ of Draco’s self-indulgent  _ stories _ ; to excitement when he realized that Potter’s note wasn’t there to mock him, but… to  _ invite _ him.

Curfew was soon, but Draco didn’t care. Potter’s note left him breathless. He didn’t know if he was going to honor his word and not disclose the information from the diary. He didn’t know if he really meant the invitation to talk, or if it was only a trap. It was no secret that they were not exactly friends; and he knew that Potter suspected him. He spent the year trying to incriminate him.

But he also… did bring it back, and apologize for having taken it in the first place.

Draco swallowed, his eyes drifting to the last two lines of the letter.  _ Ps. I know the password for the prefect bathroom. _

He might’ve been insane, but it sounded like an invitation to more than just talking.

Draco packed the diary in his bag along with the rest of his things and made his way back towards the castle, his mind preoccupied by Potter’s words. He kept going back and forth on the meaning of it; swinging from panicking that it was a threat in his words to thrill that they held a promise.

He was probably insane, he concluded as he walked through the doors to the castle. He was seriously considering the possibility of a real, off the paper relationship with Potter.


End file.
